


To Catch A Boxer

by Lynchy8



Series: Fun (and sad!) little drabbles [13]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Anal Sex, D/s undertones, M/M, One Shot, PWP, collaring, fighting because Bahorel and Feuilly, some breathplay, sub!horel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-15
Updated: 2014-03-15
Packaged: 2018-01-15 20:44:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1318597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynchy8/pseuds/Lynchy8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>To Bahorel: Hey arsehole. Want to play? </i>
</p><p> </p><p>Feuilly finds himself wandering around a pet store. Somehow he ends up in the leash and collar aisle. Feuilly has the best ideas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Catch A Boxer

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote the first half of this aaaaaaages ago and found it during a recent clear out. It's had a fair bit of poking and usual thanks are extended to Cat for being my tireless and talented beta :)

It was entirely Jehan's fault. He was the one who'd suffered a Fishtank Fatality. He was the one who couldn't possibly go alone to choose his new friend. He had begged and pleaded with Feuilly to come and hold his hand through the traumatic process.

"I'm taking them away from their friends!" He wailed.

"Jehan... They're fish." Feuilly tried to reason, somewhat exasperated.

"Exactly!" Jehan cried in return. "I can't tell them that it's ok, that there are new friends waiting for them at home."

So Feuilly ended up spending his afternoon at the pet shop. Otherwise the thought would never have entered his mind.

Jehan was ooohing and aaaahing at all the fish in the tanks, trying to make his difficult choice. Feuilly wandered away from the aquatics, idly glancing at the many (and frankly ridiculous) things pet owners were encouraged to waste their money on. Cat beds, for example. In his experience cats slept wherever they wanted, which tended to be anywhere apart from the top-price cat bed its doting owner had shelled out for.

He didn't know how he ended up in the aisle filled with collars and leashes. His eyes roved over the items before him, marvelling at the sheer variety on sale. There were collars for guinea pigs, for fuck's sake.

Suddenly, his eye was caught by one collar in particular. It was black, toughened leather. It was huge, with a black metal clasp that looked as though it was wrought iron rather than stainless steel. The illustrative label depicted it being sported by an Irish Wolf Hound. Feuilly swallowed, unconsciously running his tongue over his lower lip.

Jehan's voice pulled him back from his reverie and he reluctantly returned to aquatics.

He went back to the shop the following afternoon and made his purchase.

+

_To Bahorel: Hey arsehole. Want to play?_

_To Feuilly: Sure_

_To Bahorel: SafeWord?_

_To Feuilly: little fucking ginger shit_

_To Bahorel: last chance._

_To Feuilly: Fine. Linoleum._

_To Bahorel: Good boy :-p_

_To Feuilly: You're going to fucking pay for that, fuckface._

+

Feuilly could be stealthy when he wanted to be, and right now he needed to be. He knew Bahorel was waiting for him; he knew he would only have a few moments to surprise the guy before Bahorel regained his composure. It might go on for a while after, but the fight would be won in the first two minutes.

He entered the flat through the broken latch on the kitchen window looking out onto the fire escape. He listened cautiously for where Bahorel might be in the flat, not fooled for a moment by the sound of the TV in the living room. Bahorel wasn't that obvious and he’d had all afternoon to prepare.

The attack came from the right but Feuilly was quick, damned quick, and he shot out of the way, quickly wheeling round, casting his work bag aside and preparing for the inevitable rugby tackle of retaliation. He rode it out, allowing himself to be slammed into the wall before bringing his knee up sharply. He ducked and weaved out of Bahorel's grasp and ran to the living room, Bahorel in hot pursuit.

He loved this. The thrill of it all. Hunter and hunted. He wanted to win, he was determined to win but it wouldn't come easy. He just had to get Bahorel on his front and it was a done deal. Not as simple as it looked.

After five minutes it was a nil score draw, both men panting hard as they rolled across the living room floor. They rolled into the coffee table, sending the contents flying and from the sounds of it there was now broken glass on the floor.

Feuilly's ribs ached from a savage blow to the side and Bahorel was favouring his left leg after Feuilly had scissor kicked him to the ground. There was a couple of seconds for him to appreciate that had probably been a mistake before Bahorel seized him by the shoulders and slammed him into the wall. Another crash, another frame that needed replacing.

Feuilly felt the adrenaline course through him. He was being worked hard tonight. He loved it.

It took another seven minutes before Feuilly saw his chance. Bahorel had him by the wrists and tried to spin him to push him back into the wall. Feuilly spun himself, forcing Bahorel to let go, at which point the great leviathan stumbled. With a cry, Feuilly leapt on his back, pushing him face down into the carpet and pulling an arm up behind him. It wouldn't restrain him completely, but it was a start. With his other hand he fisted Bahorel's hair, forcing his head up to one side.

"Say 'you win, Feuilly'.”

"Fuck you!" he spat. Feuilly twisted his arm tighter behind his back, making him groan.

"Say it!" He felt Bahorel give, relaxing beneath his grasp, the great shoulders shuddering beneath him.

"You win, Feuilly," he grunted unwilling into the carpet.

"Good boy," he purred. He was victorious.

He released the man's hair and arms and sat back, reaching into the pocket of his jeans.

"Don't fucking move," he ordered, still trying to catch his breath. Bahorel obeyed, remaining on his knees, bent forward with his head on the floor.

Feuilly unclipped the collar and reached forward.

"A present for my precious prize. A prize hard won."

He was surprised and pleased when Bahorel remained obediently in position, allowing the skinny fingers to lace round his neck, grunting slightly at the unfamiliar sensation.

"Get up." 

Bahorel obeyed, his hands reaching up, fingers playing wondrously across the leather, a strange wide-eyed expression on his face. Feuilly grinned.

"Now you look like you actually belong to someone you fucking gorgeous bastard. Now get in the bedroom, I'm going to fuck your brains out."

+

Bahorel groaned as Feuilly fucked another finger inside him. Kneeling on the bed, face pressed into a pillow, the sound was mostly muffled, but Feuilly heard it and he couldn’t help but grin. He was going to really enjoy this.

“Get on with it you bastard,” Bahorel growled and Feuilly rewarded him with a sharp thrust of his fingers.

“Now, really, that’s no way to speak to me is it?” Feuilly teased, scissoring his fingers inside Bahorel, stretching the man beneath him ready for his cock. He reached forward with his other hand, stroking the leather round Bahorel’s neck. He felt the man still beneath his touch.

“Fuck, ‘Rel,” he murmured, reverently, before withdrawing his fingers, much to the bigger man’s disgruntlement. Not that it lasted long. With a deep sigh of satisfaction, Feuilly slowly pushed in.

Feuilly tried to go slow, to draw it out. It wasn’t often he got the chance to top and he was determined to make the most of it. But Bahorel was making such delicious noises underneath him, and it felt so good, being buried deep inside him, that all self-control went out the window and he began to fuck into him earnestly. 

Bahorel pushed back against him, welcoming the harder thrusts, the deeper penetration, a low rumble emitting from his chest. Feuilly reached forward, grasping the collar, fingers sliding between skin and leather as he fucked into Bahorel as hard as he could.

“Christ fuck.” Bahorel swore breathlessly with every thrust, hands clenching, clutching at the sheets, enjoying the pull on his neck, the press of the leather into his throat. 

“You going to come for me?” Feuilly breathed into Bahorel’s ear, snapping his hips forward before sinking his teeth into Bahorel’s shoulder, the man beneath him groaning and growling, his moans getting distinctly desperate.

“Fucking little shit,” he spat through gritted teeth. Feuilly knew how that drove him crazy. With his shoulders set Bahorel pushed his arse up higher, the change of angle meaning that Feuilly was now driving into his prostate and _holy fuck_ that felt good.

“Come on then, pretty little collared boy,” Feuilly gave another playful pull to the collar in question. Bahorel came then, loudly, a cry rasping from his choked off throat as the collar dug deliciously into his flesh. Feuilly followed not that far behind him with a growl, loosening his grip just enough that he didn’t throttle Bahorel as his orgasm shuddered through him.

As they lay in a gasping, sweaty heap on the bed, Feuilly rolled Bahorel over to claim a bruising kiss.

“You are gorgeous in that collar you know,” he grinned, releasing the man next to him. Bahorel grumbled, putting a hand to his throat to touch the leather, but Feuilly could tell he was pleased.

When Bahorel came apart underneath him for the second time later that night, gasping Feuilly’s name while the man above him held him down by the shoulders, thumbs pressed to the collar digging into Bahorel’s neck, Feuilly knew he’d make an excellent purchase.


End file.
